EXPOSURES
by DestroyShelbeyy
Summary: Roxie Smoque owns a successful tattoo and piercing parlor with her best friend, Liz in the heart of Los Angeles, California. Her life is great and she loves every second of it but it all gets changed when a certain member of her favorite band visits the bar she works at. Her life is completely turned around. (Hollywood Undead Fan Fiction)


It has been four years since I moved out to Los Angeles, California. I moved here from Kentwood, Michigan (a suburb of Grand Rapids) with my best friend, Liz. We moved out here in hopes of starting a successful tattoo and piercing parlor. I would say we pretty much reached that goal. We are the proud owners of Exposures Tattoos and Piercing. I am the business end and a professional piercing artist, as well. Liz does piercings too but she is mostly the advertisement department of our duo.

It was just another night at Purple Vomit, a beauty bar that I work at for fun a couple nights a week. I was dressed in my uniform, a black beater with the bar's logo on it, a short black shirt, and converse wedges. I had my long, thick curly fiery red hair up in a messy bun.

I was cleaning off the bar from behind the counter when a few guys down at the other end called out, "Hey, Roxie! Why don't you get up there and perform a song for us!"

I sometimes entertain at Purple Vomit. I cover popular songs while dressed up in costumes that are appropriate for the song. I have actually become a big hit. Nights that I'm working are the busiest nights of the week. I hope that one day I can actually make it big instead of just performing for tips. I want nothing more than to be in the entertainment business.

"All right," I call down to them, trying to hide my smile, "Just let me go get changed."

I then head back to the dressing room. I put on thin diamond fishnets along with a short, white corseted dress. I have actually gotten really good at tying it up myself. I then slide on a pair of three-inch white platform heels. I then move to do my make-up. I fix up on my foundation. I then smear on a pink eye shadow pallet and black eyeliner to compliment my bright blue eyes. Carefully, I glue on false eyelashes. Then I apply magenta lipstick. Unraveling my bun, I smile at myself in the mirror. I'm ready.

When I walk on stage, a spotlight shines bright on me. I nod to the pianist to my right. Everyone is clapping and cheering me on, especially the drunk men. I then here the bouncing sound to "Again, Again" by Lady Gaga and I blare out the first line: "You got a lot, a lot of nerve… comin' here when I'm still within him. The cheers get even more intense."

When I'm up on stage, I feel nothing but pure happiness. I forget all about the pain and suffering I endured throughout my lifetime. I even forget that I'm performing for a drunken crowd at some little shitty bar. I am in my element. I never get nervous. I know deep in my heart, this is what I was born to do.

After I finish the song, another loud burst of cheers and applause comes from everyone in the room. I jump down from stage and go back in the dressing room to change into my uniform. I am just glowing with confidence, a smile glued to my round, pale face.

I then return to sanitizing the counter, where more drinks have been spilled. A tall man comes up to me.

"You're really talented," he says in an extremely masculine, raspy voice.

"Thanks," I say without looking up.

"How long have you been performing?"

"Since I was twelve years old. That's when I was in my first musical," I reply, focusing on scrubbing the counter until it shines.

"Well, anyway," he says with a sigh, "I'm George."

"Everyone calls me Roxie. Does George have a last name?" I ask, glancing up at the gentleman in front of me.

"Yeah, my name's George Ragan," he replies, matter-o-factly. "Does Roxie have a last name?"

I immediately freeze when I hear him speak his name. My eyes almost pop out of their sockets. Could it really be the George Ragan? In my bar? No way! Thankfully, the poor lighting hides my shock. Sweat begins to bead at my hairline and upper lip at I look up at him. I see a man with a thick, muscular build. His light brown curls are slightly sticking out of his iconic captain's hat. His large lips are curled in a sexy smirk. His light blue eyes are somewhat red from all the drinking he's done this evening. I then check his neck. A three is inked right below his Adam's apple. It is him.

"Smoque," I say, my voice just slightly cracking. "My last name's Smoque."

"Well, Miss Smoque, I think I'll have to buy you a drink!" George exclaims with a smile.

"All right," I say, challengingly. "I'll take a glass of Skittles vodka!"

"Skittles vodka?" He asks, puzzled at my request.

"Yeah, I make it here myself, instead of buying it. I just take a bottle of Smirnoff and add Skittles. It's fruity and delicious."

"I'll take a glass of that too then!" He says, happily, as he climbs onto the bar stool.

Over the next three hours, we drink two bottles of Skittles vodka and a bottle of apple Smirnoff. We just talk about random things. I tell him my story of how I moved out to LA and he tells me crazy stories that have happened on tour. It was the first time in a long where I actually have truly laughed. I was having just the time of my life.

"What's 'Kisses for Cancer'?" George slurs as he grabs an empty fishbowl full of cash.

"One of the other girls here, her nephew has leukemia and they can't afford chemo, so we're trying to raise money for it. It works just like a kissing booth. You put in money, and one of the bartenders here gives you a smooch."

"Oh," he says. He then wiggles his large, tattooed hang into his pocket to pull out his wallet. He then slides out a crisp $100 bill and drops it into the fishbowl. "What kind of kiss to do I get for that?"

"Let me show you…" I then balance myself up on a step stool to reach the tall man. I lean my palms down on the counter, pushing my breasts up and out. I seductively lock eyes with him. I then place him lips on his. Both our mouths immediately open to the touch. Our tongues tease and play back and forth with each other. The kiss continues to become sloppier. His tongue is warm and large as his brushes against mine. All the alcohol and this kiss have made me incredibly horny. I release my mouth from his. Eyes still locked on his, I tell him "Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes."

He nods; eyes lazy from the amazing kiss he just experienced.

"Sheri!" I call down to my coworker, "I'm taking my break now!"

"All right, Roxie! But you might as well go home! We're closing in 15," she calls back.

I then enter the dressing room, trying to make myself look somewhat presentable. I look in the mirror. Oh my God! I think. I look like shit! I then rub away the smeared eyeliner from under my eyes and put a little lip stick on. I then change my tongue piercing to a larger barbell. After fiddling with my hair for a minute, I'm ready to go.

I enter the bathroom and George is already there. We stand there, staring at each other for a few seconds before I practically pounce on him. I wrap my legs around on his waist as our lips smash into each other. We stumble into a stall. He leans up against the wall for support as I run my finger harshly through his hair and long his chest and shoulders. His hands move down my back and to my ass, which is where he keeps them.

Panting with lust, I tell him to put me down and drop his pants. He does so and then I get down on my knees. A deep moan comes from his throat as I start to move my mouth faster along his shaft. I glance up to catch a look at his face. His hand is rolling left and right against the wall while his eyes are set upwards. Perfect, I think to myself.

After a few more minutes, I release and stand back up, satisfied with what I have done and feeling really good.

"You're really good," George managed as pulled up his boxers.

"Thanks," I say proudly as I clean rub off the smeared lipstick from around my lips.

"Wanna go to a hotel with me?"

"I'd love to!" I exclaim with a smile.


End file.
